


In Sickness

by ClassyGirlsWearPearls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Parenthood, Sherlock is an idiot when emotions are involved, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyGirlsWearPearls/pseuds/ClassyGirlsWearPearls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little drabbles about being sick. This was my first fic ever #nostalgia</p><p>Originally published on FF.net between September 4, 2012 and September 29, 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, I send my apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, and Mark Gatiss for using their characters as if they were my own. I, unfortunately, own nothing, and hope to God that I haven't horribly butchered it. Thanks for reading!

There were no obvious changes when they got together. They continued to bicker like an old married couple. Experiments were still performed on the kitchen table and body parts still littered the fridge. They still dashed around London chasing after criminals.

To the untrained eye, they were no different. To those who knew them, the changes were profound. Lestrade could clearly see the glimmer of affection in their eyes as they bickered over a corpse. When Mrs. Hudson would tidy up, she could see that the body parts were on a separate shelf from the food. As they ran through the city, Mycroft would grin as he watched them run on CCTV feeds, hand in hand.

When they were inside 221B, there was a lot more affection. They would cuddle up on the couch rather than sitting on their chairs. They would brush into each other accidentally on purpose. They only needed one bed.

John had never been this happy. He could have danced all the way home from work every day. He was on cloud nine and never wanted to come down.

They didn't have to do anything special in the evenings. Sometimes they would attack as soon as John walked in, going at it like rabbits until they fell asleep. Other times, Sherlock would be bent over his microscope when John entered the kitchen. He would press a gentle kiss to the back of his boyfriend's neck. There would be a quiet night of take out and cuddling after that. Sometimes there would be sex, and sometimes they would just fall asleep and wake up on the couch together the next morning.

Eight months into their relationship, John came home one night ready to pounce, but when he entered the flat, Sherlock wasn't in one of his usual spots. Frustrated, he went over to the table. Sherlock always left a note. John, being the hopeless romantic that he was, had saved every single one of them. Today, though, there was no note. A jolt of panic shot through John.

"Sherlock," he called out.

The response was a horrible gag that came from the bathroom.

John raced in and found his boyfriend, normally so composed, clutching the toilet and dry heaving over it.

"Oh, love," John sighed. He walked over to Sherlock and knelt next to him, rubbing his back.

"John, I feel miserable," Sherlock sighed when he had finished.

"I know," John simpered. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just make it go away," Sherlock begged. Normally, John loved to hear his boyfriend begging, but Sherlock got sick so rarely that seeing him in this state was one of the most heartbreaking sights that John had ever seen.

"Come on, then. Let's get you to bed." John gently lifted Sherlock off the floor. His skin was unnervingly warm and clammy.

They slowly made their way to the bed. Once there, John sat Sherlock on the edge and peeled off everything but his underwear. He made to grab his pajamas, but Sherlock moaned and said, "Please no. I'm too hot."

"Okay, my love," John replied, placing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead. He leaned over to fluff Sherlock's pillows and eased him down onto the bed, tucking him in. "I'll be back in a minute, love."

Sherlock nodded weakly.

John placed a wastebasket just over the side of the bed, and then made his way into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water for Sherlock and started a cup of tea for both of them.

"Do you think you could manage to eat some toast?" John called into the bedroom.

"Not now," a weak voice called back.

John popped a few biscuits into his mouth and prepared the tea. Grabbing their mugs as well as the water, John carefully moved back into the bedroom.

"Drink this slowly," John instructed, handing Sherlock the glass of water. He went to the bathroom to grab some pills to help soothe Sherlock's stomach and made his way back. "Take this."

Sherlock obeyed, and then sank back against the pillows. "Thank you," he sighed as John handed him his mug of tea.

John smiled and kissed his forehead. "Finish that."

Sherlock nodded and took a small sip from the tea. Satisfied, John then walked around the bed and switched on the lamp on his bedside table. "Will this bother you?"

"Not at all," his boyfriend answered.

"Good. I'll be back in a minute." John switched off the overhead light and walked into the cluttered kitchen. He snagged a few more biscuits, and then grabbed a medical journal that he'd brought home from work from the coffee table.

By the time John returned, Sherlock was finishing his tea. He handed John the empty mug and smiled up at him. "I feel a bit better now."

"I'm glad." John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll be here if you need me."

"I always need you," Sherlock mumbled sleepily.

John climbed into bed with the journal, smiling. "As I need you, my darling," he replied, stroking Sherlock's curls softly.

Sherlock shifted so John could continue his stroking and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head in the crook between his thigh and his abdomen. "What would I do without you?"

"God only knows," John chuckled.

Sherlock chuckled softly back. Just before falling asleep, he muttered, "I love you."

John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's temple. "I love you too."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I send my apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, and Mark Gatiss for using their characters as if they were my own. I, unfortunately, own nothing, and hope to God that I haven't horribly butchered it. Thanks for reading!

Being a doctor, John had built up an immune system that could withstand almost anything.

Almost anything apparently didn't apply to the horrendous stomach bug that Sherlock had had.

He really wasn't expecting Sherlock to wait on him hand and foot and be as nurturing as John had been when Sherlock was sick. In fact, he knew that he was a bit stupid for expecting that. It just would be setting himself up for disappointment.

Which is exactly what happened.

Sherlock had gone into the kitchen two days after John had come home to find him heaving into the toilet. He had hopped out of bed with the speed and agility of a rabbit. John, however, had been feeling a bit weak the night before. He left bed with the agility of a sloth and had hauled himself into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

"John!" Sherlock called excitedly, running down the hall into their bedroom. "John, where are you? Lestrade just called. We have a case!"

Sherlock had never completely grasped the concept of having personal boundaries, and when he and John had gotten together, all privacy had disappeared. He threw open the bathroom door and found John in the same position he had been a few nights before.

"Oh. So you're not feeling well?"

John opened his mouth to answer, but instead of words, vomit spilled out. Sherlock, the man who kept severed heads in the refrigerator, the man who spent his free time on murder investigations or in the morgue at Bart's, stood frozen, almost as if the sight of John vomiting would make him sick again.

"I've clearly got what you had, you great git," John sighed once he had finished. He went over to the sink to rinse out his mouth. "Would you mind getting me some broth? There will be some on the top right shelf in the fridge."

"Of course," Sherlock responded. He felt that he should try to offer some sort of comfort to John, but he wasn't quite sure what. Getting the broth and heating it up for him should be a start, so he marched down to the kitchen, warmed it up, and brought it back to his boyfriend, who had climbed back into bed.

"Thank you." John slowly sipped the broth out of the mug that it was in and rested his head against the headboard wearily.

"Will you be strong enough to come to the crime scene with me, or should I go alone?"

"Well, Sherlock, I'm feeling like you did the other day. Do you really think that I'm well enough to go to a crime scene?"

"Probably not."

"Brilliant deduction," John replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look, why don't we just spend the day in bed. I won't be much fun, but I'm sure that I'll feel better if you're here."

"But the case, John-"

"Sod the case, Sherlock, I'm your boyfriend. When I'm sick, you do not go running off to a crime scene. Please, just stay here with me. You can text Lestrade for the details. Just stay."

Sherlock sighed. "Oh fine. I'll get back into bed."

"Thank you, love." John smiled at him as he sank back onto his pillows and texted Lestrade.

It didn't take Sherlock very long to get bored. John had drifted off to sleep in about five minutes, and less than five minutes after that, Sherlock was waking him up.

"What?" John groaned.

"What do you think about this?" Sherlock asked and began reading out facts to John.

"Christ, Sherlock. I can barely make sense of the words you're saying. I'm too sick to deal with this right now. Let me sleep, please."

"But John, I need your help. I need to talk to someone," Sherlock whined.

"Go and get your bloody skull off of the mantle, bring it in here, and whisper to it, then. That worked before I came along, and I'm sure it will be the same now."

"Fine." Sherlock, the perpetually petulant child, stormed off and grabbed the skull. John had managed to get back to sleep in the short time he was gone, so he sank gently onto the bed and began to have a one-sided conversation with his skull.

It didn't take too long for Sherlock's conversation with the skull to get annoyingly loud and for John to wake up yet again. He sighed loudly into his pillow and said, "Just go to the bloody crime scene."

"Really?" Sherlock was clearly bored at home and wanted to get out, even though his boyfriend was ill and really was hoping he would stay with him.

"Maybe I'll actually get some sleep. Just go," John groaned, turning over. Sherlock pressed a quick kiss to his temple and dashed out, calling, "I love you!"

John was disappointed, but he knew he was being stupid. He was dating Sherlock Holmes. There was no way that Sherlock would stay home with him in favor of a murder. He went back to sleep, and was woken up several hours later by his elated boyfriend.

"John!" Sherlock shouted. "John, it was so disgustingly easy! The only person tall enough to have killed them was the ex-husband, and we found his skin cells all over the apartment that he had supposedly never been in. John, are you feeling any better? I feel like doing something to celebrate."

"Christ, Sherlock," John sighed. "I'm still sick. Better, but not enough to get out of bed and do anything."

"But John, what I was proposing involves staying in bed," Sherlock pleaded.

"Um, no. My stomach isn't steady enough for all of that thrusting and the shaking of the bed. Why don't you just stay here and lie with me?"

"But John," Sherlock whined. "That is so boring."

John muttered something into his pillow that Sherlock couldn't quite make out, so he said, "Could you please repeat that, love?"

"I said, 'I feel better when you're here with me', Sherlock."

Sherlock froze. "Is this one of those feelings things that I'm failing to grasp?"

"Bingo."

"Oh," Sherlock said. "Oh." John wasn't expecting any type of apology, but he felt the bed dip down and Sherlock drape himself lightly over John. "I'm sorry, love. You wanted me to stay earlier, and I was being selfish about going out."

"I was being stupid," John replied, grinning into the pillow. "I shouldn't have to ask you to change. I love you just how you are, even if it means leaving me sick in bed while you go track down a killer."

"That isn't entirely fair, though, is it?"

"Not really, but I don't particularly care."

"I'm so sorry, love. Why don't we just go to sleep? Hopefully you'll feel better in the morning."

John continued smiling into his pillow as Sherlock shifted into a more comfortable position with his front against John's back and his arm draped over his boyfriend. John grabbed his hand and pressed it softly to his lips.

"You won't be bored?"

"I could never be bored with you, John."

John's smile grew and he pulled his boyfriend closer to him. "I love you," he whispered as he drifted off to sleep again.

Sherlock smiled too, and kissed the back of John's neck. "I love you, too," he replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory disclaimer about not owning anything blah blah blah

The intercom buzzed into the exam room during the middle of the appointment. "Dr. Watson?"

John grimaced apologetically at the young woman on his exam table. "Mary, I'm in with a patient."

"Sherlock is on the phone."

John sighed. "Thank you. Tell him that I will call him I'm done here."

"Yes, Doctor."

Turning from the phone to face the patient on the table, John smiled. "Now let's take a look at those bumps, Kathleen."

Twenty minutes and a poorly-received diagnosis of herpes later, John buzzed Mary at the front desk and asked her to hold his patients for five minutes so he could quickly call Sherlock. He then dialed his husband, bracing himself for the worst.

"John, you have to do something."

"Hello to you too, love," John chuckled. "What have you destroyed this time?"

"Our son."

John's smile dropped from his face immediately. "What?"

"I've catalogued every single sound that Hamish has made from the instant he was born, and I have never heard him make this one. God, John, I have no idea what to do. You have to help."

"Okay, calm down," John said, not really certain of whether he was saying it for Sherlock's benefit or for his own. "Is he making the sound now?"

"Yes, it's sort of a raspy coughing. He just sounds like he's struggling and he's in pain and I can't do anything to help him. Listen to him."

John then heard the sounds of a cough that was all too familiar to him. He sighed in relief.

"What do you make of that?"

"Sherlock, he has the croup. It's going to be fine, do you hear me? I want you to turn the shower on as hot as it will go, put him in the car seat, and then put him in the bathroom. You two will have to stay in there for a while. It should calm the cough down and we can bring him to a doctor tomorrow. I'll be home in a little over two hours. Can you manage until then?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "I will. Please hurry, though."

"I will," John promised. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Sherlock replied.

John smiled at the phone as he hung it up. He then buzzed for another patient and proceeded to take care of other people's children before he was able to go home and care for his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own things.

Sherlock had been bent over his microscope when he heard the wail from the bassinette. No, wail wasn't really the right word for the sound that their son was making. It sounded like there was something rattling around in Hamish's chest. His weak cries were punctuated with painful coughs that sent a dagger right though Sherlock's heart.

He had raced over to the eight-month-old boy and scooped him up. Hamish was boiling up. Why did John have a shift down at the surgery today, he wondered while trying to soothe the baby.

Sherlock spent close to two hours trying to make Hamish feel better. He tried holding him in different positions, reading, toys, and the violin. He even resorted to singing, something he had only seen John do and had sworn that he would never do. It was after the singing and the way Hamish seemed to magically gain back some strength in his wails that Sherlock finally broke down and called John at work.

"Doctor's office, please hold."

"No! I need to-"

Tinny classical music hit his eardrums and Sherlock couldn't decide whether or not the music or Hamish's incessant crying was more irritating in those long moments.

"Thank you for h-"

"I need to speak with Dr. Watson right now.

"What is your name, Sir?" the receptionist asked him.

"Tell him it's his husband, Sherlock."

"Dr. Watson is in with a patient right now. I'll ask him if he can step out."

Before Sherlock could protest, the tinny music recommenced the assault on his right eardrum while Hamish continued his assault on the left. He waited for a very tense forty seven seconds before the receptionist got back on the phone with him.

"He says that he will call you when he gets out. It shouldn't be more than 10 minutes. Have a nice day." The receptionist then hung up before Sherlock could protest again.

Sherlock sighed and looked down at his son. He felt as if Hamish was glaring up at him, blaming him for not being able to cure his suffering. He scooped the baby up and held him close until John called him back twenty minutes later, cooing in his ear and wishing he could stop his son's suffering.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor of the bathroom with the shower running as hot as it could when John came home from the surgery. His hair was lying flat on his head because of the humidity and he had undone a few buttons on his shirt. Hamish was in his arms and he was slightly rocking back and forth and stroking his chubby cheek to keep him calm. Sherlock was so absorbed in Hamish that he didn't notice John come in, pull out his phone, and take a picture of the precious scene.

"Evening, love."

Sherlock's head snapped up and a look of relief swept over his features. "I thought you were never going to get home."

"Sorry, the traffic was awful. I ended up walking home. Believe it or not, but it was faster." John sat himself down in front of his husband and stroked Hamish's hair. "How is he?"

"His coughs are better. He finally stopped whimpering in his sleep about half an hour ago. John it was awful. I promised to never let anything bad happen to him, and I couldn't make it better." Sherlock could feel his throat tightening and the corners of his mouth turned down.

"You did, though," John smiled, moving his hand from Hamish to Sherlock's cheek and caressing it with his thumb. "You brought him in here. Clearly he's better now."

Sherlock sighed and leaned into John's hand. "Yes, but he was in agony for so long. He couldn't tell me what was wrong and I couldn't figure out how to make it better. I felt so helpless."

John moved to sit next to Sherlock at this point and put his arm around him. "You're such a good father. Nobody knows what to do all the time, love. Being a parent is a learning process. We're both going to make mistakes, and there are going to be tough moments. Don't beat yourself up over today because you did an amazing job. I'm off tomorrow, so I'll call work and will get an appointment for him first thing tomorrow morning. He's going to need some medicine. Does that sound good?"

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you."

John kissed him in response. He got up, turned off the shower, and then helped Sherlock pull himself up off of the floor. They hugged and kissed, all the while being careful not to squish or wake their son.

John was right. There were difficult days parenting, especially on days where Hamish was sick or upset in some way. But they did their best, and they loved every minute of it. In the end, that's really what matters, and because of that, they were a happy family.


End file.
